Q. But weren’t you finished with that? What happened on July 4, 2018? On Independence Day?

A. On July 4, 2018, I finished the script. It was actually the third draft. And yes, I did feel liberated on Independence Day. Liberated from the burden of having to keep hammering away at the script.

Q. Are you suggesting that there is some other aspect to this musical that you have not yet finished? The score, for example?

A. You’re getting warm. It’s kinda like, I wrote most of the music “in my head” — I mean, occasionally tapping my fingers on my desktop as though it were a piano keyboard. But mostly just trying to envision internally what it would actually sound like once I got around to writing out the parts.

Q. And you’ve not gotten around to writing out the parts yet?

A. Not exactly. I figured I’d start with the Vocal Score. Currently, there are 16 main numbers in the show. I have thus far scored 13 of the 16 to my satisfaction. The 14th has been scored, too – though not to my complete satisfaction. Nos. 15 & 16 remain.

Q. Well then, doesn’t it seem that you’ve come a long way?

A. Not long enough! Once the Vocal Score is scored, I need to write out instrumental parts. The bass parts. Guitar parts. Keyboard-synthesizer. And drums.

Q. Won’t that be the fun part?

A. Maybe. Not looking forward to writing out a whole piano score. But I suppose it has to be done.

Q. What’s your timeline?

A. Interesting question. I almost would decline to answer it. Anyone who knows me knows that I abhor working for deadlines. I often boldly claim that the only true deadline is death. So what makes you think there’s a timeline?

Q. Well – you won’t live forever, will you?

A. Perhaps not. But there’s something a bit insidious about your line of reasoning. It seems like you’re fishing for something. Come on, Questioner! Out with it!

Q. Out with what?

A. The cat! Let ‘er out of the bag!

Q. What cat? What bag??

A. Never mind. I’d rather do it myself. As you are well aware, there are looming production possibilities not too far around the corner. If even one of these possibilities comes to fruition, then there will need to be a full musical score. People other than me will need to sing the parts. People other than myself will need to play the instruments. And at least one of these possibilities is looming for “mid-to-late Summer.” We’re talking 2019! I gotta get a move on.

Q. How possible is this possibility?

A. It’s a virtual certainty. I’ve received a definite offer. I just haven’t said YES yet.

Q. Why not?

A. Because there may be a greater offer pending, and if I said YES to the lesser offer, I might miss out. I can’t have both.

Q. Why not?

A. Time constraints. It’s also looming for the summer, just with a different company, a different venue. Can’t have both at once.

Q. So you need to finish all the musical parts by Summer 2019?

A. That would stand to reason.

Q. You think you can make it?

A. Yes — as long as I get through this one very difficult hurdle.

Q. What hurdle is that?

A. Long story.

Q. Shoot.

The Answerer takes a deep breath.

A. Long, long ago, in the year 1974, I sat down at a piano at Struve-Titus Hall on the campus of the University of California at Davis. Laboriously, in the spirit of Keith Emerson, I wrote a highly ELP-influenced piece entitled “Winston Greene.”

Q. Winston Greene? Isn’t that the name of your protagonist?

A. It is indeed. The main character in Eden in Babylonis a fellow who goes by the name of Winston Greene.

Q. So what is the connection between the song you wrote in 1974 and the character of this musical that you have written 45 years later?

A. My answer will only make sense if you happen to be an Artist of my type.

Q. Are there any Artists of your type?

A. That’s a good question. I’m not sure I know the answer, to be honest with you. What I have done — as an Artist — just seems totally weird. To even relate the information strikes me as some kind of confession. I need for some kind of High Priest of the Arts to absolve me of my Artistic transgression.

Q. How, then, can I be of help?

A. I’m not sure, Father Q. Just hear me out. And maybe go easy on the interrogation. Just let me speak. You will let me speak, won’t you?

Q. Why not?

A. Whew. For a while there, I was afraid you were going to just keep interrupting me all the time. Now I warn you, this story is long.

In 1974 I created a character in my head, and I called him Winston Greene. I wrote a song about him, describing his departure from civilized society, his prodigality, and his failure to return to the normative world. I even had him die in the song. The song was very well-received. So I played it at every opportunity, until I got tired of it.

Q. Why did you get tired of it?

A. Because my style evolved past it. My current style doesn’t resemble it much at all. So I lost interest in it. But — I did not lose interest in the character, the persona of Winston Greene. I continued to toy with “Winston” – until gradually, it appeared I ought to make him the protagonist of a specific, larger work — albeit 45 years later. But then, I must confess, I did a very strange thing.

Q. What was that?

A. I decided that the song, “Winston Greene,” needed to be worked into the show, with the lyrics adjusted accordingly, in order to serve as the penultimate number — Musical No. 15 – of the 16 numbers in the show. I decided that in this case, the death of Winston Greene would only be — a rumor. He would actually reappear, in the flesh, almost as though there had been a resurrection. And yet, the death itself would be a deception. This was my way of exonerating myself for having — having —

Q. Having what? Having what??

A. Having killed Winston Greene. Yes — I so identified with Winston, when I wrote the earlier piece back in ’74, I could not let him die within me, even after he had already died in the song.

Q. Is this why you let the song itself die?

A. Exactly! But I only realized that just now, at this very moment! The song, “Winston Greene,” in which the man “Winston Greene” dies, is a song I need to kill –– in order that Winston Greene himself might live. So he continued to live on in my heart, and the song that told of his death was banned from existence. There would be no record of Winston having died.

Q. Fascinating! Is this why you wanted to change the lyrics?

A. Yes! The lyrics would no longer relate to Winson’s alleged death, but to his endurance, his survival, and his will to live.

Q. Then isn’t your problem solved?

A. How do you figure that?

Q. Can’t you just use the same old music, but with the newer, happier lyrics?

A. I suppose I could. If I want the penultimate number in my musical to sound like something I wrote when I was 22 years old listening to Emerson, Lake & Palmer, and not like something I wrote when I wrote the rest of the score to Eden in Babylon, some forty years later.

Q. So you are planning to write a whole new song, at this late stage? Won’t this mean rewriting the last Scene entirely?

A. Not entirely – but to a significant degree. I read through the last Scene last night, and actually found that it flowed quite nicely — up until the point where the rogue song rears its ugly head. But you see, I don’t have to write a new song. Only new words. I can use a song that I wrote during the same time period when I wrote the rest of the music to Eden in Babylon. A song that I wrote that I have not yet written words for. I only have music for it. You may find that music — in raw form — right here.

Q. Why do I feel like you’re leaving something out?

A. I don’t know.

Q. Can you guess?

A. Sure, but it’s only a guess. Knowing you, I doubt you have me figured for the kinda guy who would cast aside years of sentiment related to his mysterious ELP-inspired tune called “Winston Greene” and then ditch the whole prestigious product for a much more innocuous replacement that doesn’t reflect nearly the professional prowess of the previous project.

Q. So what else is going on? What is your underlying sorrow? Why must you return this song, recently so rigorously resurrected, to its grisly, grimy grave?

A. You wax a bit too alliterate for my tastes.

Q. Illiterate?

A. Never mind. I must return the song to the tomb from which, like Lazarus, it has been summoned by its Creator. The reason for this is very emotional and deep. And it will reveal my vulnerability, as well as a large part of my sorrow.

Q. Your sorrow?

A. Yes — my sorrow. For I grieve the loss of old friends. People who were meaningful to me. Three in particular, though their names need not be mentioned. Three men whom I loved, and who happened to love the song “Winston Greene.”

Q. These men have died?

A. Not that I’m aware of. I suppose they still live.

Q. Yet you have lost them in some way?

A. Yes. They do not speak to me. I have lost their friendship. I mourn that loss. And yet they are the only ones remaining who would have had any fond emotional or sentimental attachment to that particular piece of music. In other words, I must confesss that I put the song in the show for them.

Q. For them? For these three men who no longer speak to you??

A. Sadly, I confess, it’s true. I had this vision that if I used the song “Winston Greene” in a dramatic way toward the end the show, it would move them, and soften their hearts toward me, and I would regain their friendship at last.

Q. Let me get this straight. You were willing to throw a lousy song that you wrote when you were 22 years old into your new musical only because it might win your three friends back?

A. I was. I do confess it.

Q. WHAT KIND OF AN ARTIST ARE YOU? THIS NOT TOTALLY UNACCEPTABLE!!

A. I feel like you’re about to assign me three Hail Mary’s and an Act of Contrition.

Q. That aside, what do you think are the chances that any of these three guys will come and see your musical this summer?

A. Slim to none. They want nothing to do with me, apparently. Why should they want to see my musical?

Q. Sir! Why even entertain the notion?? Are these three fellows that important to you?

A. This is where the sorrow comes in. They obviously were, at one time. But for the life of me, I can’t figure out why. I mean, I’m sure they’re very fine fellows in their own rites, but why did I place such a high regard on their loyalty?

Q. Loyalty?

A. I did use that word, yes.

Q. You feel that they have betrayed you?

A. Not exactly. But they’re not loyal to me anymore. And all I want to regain is — their loyalty.

Q. What is so important about loyalty? I mean, in this context? Aren’t there thousands of people from whom you will hopefully be gleaning box office receipts far more important than these three men whom you knew in the 70’s? Why can’t you just forget about these guys?

A. That is indeed the $64,000 question. They’ve evidently forgotten about me.

Q. Have they?

A. Maybe not.

Q. But even if not, why is it so important to regain their friendship?

A. Well, it isn’t. And that’s why I’m removing the number. I’ve decided that now. The other song is much more akin to the style of the present day. And a composer whom I respect told me that it’s the best piece of mine whom he personally has heard. So — once I get my lyrics together, I’m on my way.

Q. Why does something seem unfinished here?

A. Because, like I said at the beginning, I’m not done. And I want to be done.

Q. Why do I feel like I haven’t gotten the full story here?

A. Probably because I’m leaving something out.

Q. What could that possibly be?

A. What if — and this is a pretty big “if” — what if the music that I wrote in 1974 just happens to be better and more appropriate for the final Scene of the show than the music I wrote in 2016? I mean, despite everything. What if, painful though it might be, the right thing for me to do is to include this song anyway? What if that choice is the right Artistic choice, irrespective of the sentiment, the glitter rock, the former fans, and the bygone era?

Q. How can you know for sure?

A. I can’t. That’s why I linked you to both songs. The version of “Winston Greene” was done in 2010 using general midi software associated with my Finale notation program at the time. It excels beyond the earlier, more primitive style — though perhaps not by much. The version of “Sirens of Hope” was done using the Garritan Personal Orchestra in 2016, almost immediately after I got off the streets and was able to start sequencing my compositions again. So – listen to them both. You tell me which one you like better.

Q. Why should my opinion matter?

A. Why should mine matter more?

Q. Aren’t you the Artist? The Creator, as it were?

A. I am. But I can hardly be expected to be objective at this stage.

Q. Is something clouding your vision?

A. I’d say, so yes.

Q. What is it? Why aren’t you seeing straight?

A. It’s hard to see clearly when there are so many tears in my eyes.

Q. Why are you crying, Andy? Is it because of the loss of your friends?

A. They were never my true friends. So there is no true loss.

Q. Then why are you in tears?

A. Because Winston Greene might die. It happens every time I get to this part in the show. It happened when I wrote the first rough draft, and again when I wrote the second, and the third. And now, writing out the Vocal Score, it’s happening even moreso. Winston Greene cannot die. Winston Greene must live.

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I debated whether to post this announcement, or just to drop off the face clandestinely. I chose the former, because when others have chosen the latter, it’s always made me want to buzz them and try to find out what’s up, which is not always appreciated.

Life is such that I can’t possibly keep up the blogging commitment earlier propounded. I’ve got so much else that needs to be done, the blog just seems more of a hassle than anything else. I really would like to just be free of it.

I’ll still post, and I’ll try to stick to the days I announced earlier — piano stuff on Fridays, and so forth. But it’s not going to be regular, and I’m not going to bind myself to have to come up with something six days a week. There just aren’t enough hours in the day.

Anyway, just thought I should say something. Life is good, I just finished the first Act of my vocal score, I’ve started on the second Act, and after that I have the instrumental parts to score. This is just stuff that needs to be done if one has written a musical and has any hopes of it ever being produced.

I also have articles to write for a number of major newspapers who may or may not publish them. But I’m being strongly recommended by some people who have written for those papers. So it seems to be the door that’s being opened right now.

And then of course, there’s life in general. Church, family, everything else. Blogging would be great if it were a full time job with a paycheck attached to it. But it’s basically become a full time job with no monetary recompense whatsoever. And I have other such jobs that are more rewarding, in other ways.

A. I don’t know. I thought playing the piano would work. But I just played for a half an hour, and the whole time, I was in a fog.

Q. Why is everything leaving you in a fog?

A. Because none of these things are progressive. They’re all stagnant. They’re all things that I can do every day if I want to. They never lead anywhere.

Q. So they never lead you out of the morning fog?

A. No, they don’t.

Q. Then whatever does? Or can?

A. Well, recently, it was the Vocal Scorethat I just completed — the vocal score to Act One of Eden in Babylon, my new musical about homelessness. Whenever I was working on it, I felt I was progressing. I felt the fog lifting. It even seemed to lift for some of the people around me. Everybody perked up. There were smiles of approval everywhere I went, mirroring my own smile of self-satisfaction. Towards the end, I was anything but foggy. In fact, I was jazzed — filled to the brim with sunshine. People were astonished at the rate at which I was proceeding, and yet, to me, it seemed nothing at all.

Q. So the completion of the score left you in a fog?

A. Exactly. Today is the fourth day since its completion. And all of life has been a blur.

Like this:

Here’s my daily gratitude list from Saturday morning, the morning after I finished notating my Vocal Score to Act One of Eden in Babylon.

1. Slept 9 hours between 8:30 & 5:30, best sleep I’ve gotten in ages. Vivid dreams, only got up twice to use the bathroom, went immediately back to sleep. No tossing or turning, very restful.

2. Played first at the Open Mike last night, did “Fumblin’ with the Blues” and “I Am the Blues.” Paul A. jumped in with the Cajon on the 2nd verse of Fumblin’ it was pretty awesome. Aubrey was there, hadn’t seen her in a few months, good to see her. A nice occasion.

3. Sleep removed the earlier hypomania. I’m healthier this morning mentally, and less self-absorbed. But I’m still thankful for the mania, because it propelled the completion of a project that is important to me.

4. Yesterday at around 1:30pm, I finished Act One of the Eden in Babylon vocal score, fully formatted, like so. Also, the guy at the print shop gave me an extra copy for free, because he did it single-sided the first time by mistake. It looks really great, all coil-bound, and the cost was $12.40. (It’s 75 pages).

5. Conveniently sold my last copy of Exile yesterday for $10 as well. :)

6. Made it through last night. Having accomplished something significant, I was strongly tempted to “celebrate.” Thankfully, the Open Mike was celebration enough.

7. Took a nice shower just now. It again feels great to have my own shower, where I don’t have to deal with all kinds of other guys on the way to or fro, or in the bathroom. 2017 was the first year since 2010 since this has happened. Very grateful for my nice, spacious, secluded, reasonably secure apartment.

8. Looking forward to meeting with M. at 1pm. It will be exciting to go through the music with the actual hard-copy coil-bound score (double-sided too, which means only half as many page turns). M. also complimented me on the script using academic terminology, including one word I’ve never heard before. (He said the “polyrhymes” were “spectacular.”)

9. Sounds of Silence is getting a good response now that I’ve fixed it up, and also added a song description and a SoundCloud to the page, with descriptive image. Even more grateful, I heard four lines of music & lyrics in my sleep during a power nap yesterday. They survived my wake-up memory long enough for me to write them down. Then last night, I “heard” a B part and the beginnings of a C part. Grateful that I still have the music in me.

10. It feels really good to simply be respected these days. Neither idolized nor scorned, neither flattered nor ridiculed, but simply respected. It’s the best possible feeling – it puts me at peace inside. Life is good, and God is Good.

A. Because the counterpoint is dissonant. It reminds me of all the counterpoint toward the end of Musical Number Two in my new musical Eden in Babylon. Listen to “The Age of Nevermore” – skip to about 3:20 if you need to. When the counterpoint comes in at around 3:47, it’s the counterpoint of suffering and travail. It’s not consonant. It’s cacophonic.

Q. But didn’t you yourself compose that cacophony? I mean, intentionally?

A. I did. And that’s its saving grace. But the current cacophonic counterpoint is not being composed by me alone, but by a conflicting collaboration of a number of convoluted, confused composers. It’s a big mess.

Q. What kind of counterpoint would be better?

A. The counterpoint in Musical Number Nine: “Ode to the Universe”. I mean, listen. Where the counterpoint comes in at around 1:44, everything is happier. :)

Q. Why is the counterpoint in your life so unhappy these days?

A. Human relationships.

Q. Relationships? With whom?

A. With those whom throughout my life I have deemed most important to me.

Q. And these relationships are no longer harmonious?

A. Not sure they ever were harmonious, quite frankly. They’ve always been contrapuntal. But there have been times when the counterpoint was prettier.

Q. And now?

A. Our melodic lines are colliding. This creates dissonance and ugliness. I’m an Artist. I’m about creating Beauty. I can’t stand it when I’m even remotely involved in the creation of ugliness.

Q. But who’s to say what’s beautiful and what’s ugly?

A. You know the answer to that.

Q. Are you of such exalted Artistic merit that you can decide what’s beautiful and what’s ugly?

A. Well – I am the Artist, aren’t I? I mean – what are you driving at?

Q. Are not the others in these human relationships that you so prize, Artists in their own rite?

A. They are indeed. This is largely why I prize the relationships so highly.

Q. Then who are you to say that what they are creating is ugly?

A. I never said that! I said that the contrapuntal lines of the divergent melodies created by the — the three or four of us, let’s say — produce ugliness.

Q. Three or four?

A. Three for sure. Four pending. The fourth Artist has not yet begun his or her melodic line, at least not in a way that lets me hear it. But that’s besides the point. Let’s say it’s a Three-Part Invention — for now — and nowhere near the caliber of Beauty as such as have been created by J.S.Bach.

Q. So you are willing to concede that the individual melodic lines of the two Artists whose melodies conflict with your own might be individually beautiful in and of themselves?

A. Yes. In fact, they might even be harmonious.

Q. Harmonious? How can that be?

A. They may not be harmonious with me, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be harmonious with each other. When their parts are played separate from my own, they will no longer be in counterpoint with each other, but in harmony.

Q. Then can you not assay to be harmonious with them as well, and thus create a three-part harmony, rather than a three-part counterpoint?

A. Maybe. In the future, perhaps, after something changes.

Q. What needs to change?

A. The tonal structure of the conflicting melodic lines, obviously! We at least need to all be playing the same key, for crying out loud!

Q. But how can this ever come to pass?

A. You got me. From my position, it seems like the other musicians aren’t playing their scales right. They obviously haven’t been practicing.

Q. And you have been?

A. Yes. This is not to say that I haven’t been making mistakes. The mistakes just aren’t quite as glaring.

Q. Is there a way you can compensate for their mistakes, so that the three of you can still turn in a good performance?

A. Probably. I think it has to do with something that Jesus said.

Q. What was that?

A. He said: “He who would be greatest among you must be least and servant of all.”

Q. Are you implying that you wish to be greatest among them?

A. Not quite. Maybe second greatest.

Q. Why are you being so curt? And so vague?

A. Tired of the theme.

Q. Are you bored with the theme?

A. Not bored. More-or-less exasperated.

Q. Andy — what’s the bottom line?

A. You want to hear the bottom line? Then I’ll tell you the bottom line. The bottom line is that my sense of aesthetics, of what is beautiful and non-beautiful in the Creation of Art, is insufficient to compose or conduct the manner of three-part counterpoint that would elevate the current cacophonic theme to the level of a fugue as composed by Johann Sebastian Bach. I’m simply not a good enough composer. But I know Someone who is.

Q. Who would that be?

A. Who else? Who is the Greatest Artist? Who is the Artist so great, that He even created Art Itself?

Q. You refer to the Creator?

A. I defer to Him. He is the One who can can make the crooked paths straight, and transform the most ugliest of dissonances into the most beautiful, consonant resonance – it is through Him that the worlds have been made. Everything is formed through Christ, who is least and servant of All.

Q. And you?

A. Me? I’m just bangin’ on my old piano, gettin’ in tune with the straight and narrow.

Like this:

It wasn’t neurosis that made me come up with the ten disclaimers, essentially telling my followers they shouldn’t even bother listening to the song, and then posting the song the next morning anyway.

I wasn’t being bipolar when I was one way one day and one way the next. For beyond neurosis, beyond bipolarity, there lies this thing called reality.

And reality can sometimes be the last thing the Artist wants to face. In fact, maybe the fact that the Artist doesn’t like to face reality is the reason why the Artist became an Artist in the first place.

Maybe, at some long-forgotten age old time of childhood, a little boy learned something about reality that he just couldn’t handle.

Maybe his childhood was so idyllic, and he loved his parents so much, that he couldn’t handle finding out that there was this thing called “death” that would take away his father one day, and take away his mother, and eventually take away his own self.

Maybe that was so painful that for two whole years he looked around at all the people doing normal things, and thought painful thoughts of despair. “Why is that guy washing his car?” the child would ask himself. “Doesn’t he know he could die tomorrow? And what would a clean car be to him then?”

Maybe the child turned from about five to about seven, and suddenly realized he kinda knew how to do things like play Old MacDonald and Mary Had a Little Lamb on a piano, and write little children’s songs, and draw pretty pictures with colored pencils, and write little fairy tales and nursery rhymes, and sing silly songs long into the night, while pretending his fingernails were ice skates, his fingers the skaters, and the sheets of his bed the skating rink, where round and round the skaters would skate, and skate themselves out of their pain.

Maybe he figured that God’s creation was just too painful to face. So he created his own creations, and found pleasure in what he decided to create – a pleasure that cancelled out for a season, the pain of the creation that was God’s.

Whatever the case, it was not neurosis that issued the disclaimers, nor was it bipolar of me to be one guy one day, and another fellow the next. For on the third day, he rose, and he realized reality.

The reality he did not want to face.

The reality is that the song straight-up, flat-out sucks. And he knew it from the start. He wanted to be cute. He wanted to entertain. He wanted to fool people into thinking that he didn’t know the song would turn out as badly as the song in fact turned out. So he went for high drama, like the Actor that he can be, and played his show of neurosis to the hilt.

The truth is, he was never neurotic. The truth is that he knew all along the reality that he did not feel he could face. The reality is what it is.

The song sucks — and that’s reality.

But maybe the song needed to suck, because the Artist needed to face the music, and learn a needed lesson. Maybe the lesson he needed to learn is the reality all Artists must one day face.

For the creation of the Artist is by no means superior to the creation of the Reality. And that creation is not of the Artist. The creation of Reality belongs to God.